She had come into the kitchen quietly, and he turned. As always since the beginning of their affair, he found the first sight of her enchanting and refreshing. Unusual for one who never lacked confidence with women, he had at such moments a heady sense of wonder that he had ever possessed Gwen at all. She was in a trim uniform skirt and blouse which made her seem even younger than she was. Her eager, high-cheekboned face was tilted upward, her rich black hair lustrous under the kitchen lights. Gwen's deep dark eyes regarded him with smiling, frank approval. "You can kiss me hard," she said. "I haven't put on makeup yet."
He smiled, her clear melodious English voice delighting him again. As girls from upper-crust British private schools somehow managed to do, Gwen had captured all that was best in English intonation and avoided the worst. At times, Vernon Dermerest encouraged Gwen to talk, merely for the joy of hearing her speak.
Not talking now, they held each other tightly, her lips responding eagerly to his.
After a minute or so, Gwen pushed herself away. "No!" she insisted firmly. "No, Vernon dear. Not here."
"Why not? We've time enough." There was a thickness to Demerest's voice, a rough impatience.
"Because I told you---I want to talk, and we don't have time for both." Gwen rearranged her blouse which had parted company with the skirt.
"Hell!" he grumbled. "You bring me to the boil, and then... Oh, all right; I'll wait till Naples." He kissed her more gently. "All the way to Europe you can think of me up there on the flight deck, turned to 'simmer.' "
"I'll bring you to the boil again. I promise." She laughed, and leaning close against him, passed her long slim fingers through his hair and around his face.
He groaned. "My God!---you're doing it right now."
"Then that's enough." Gwen took his hands, which were around her waist, and pushed them resolutely from her. Turning away, she moved to close the cupboard he bad been looking into.
"Hey, wait a minute. What about all those?" Demerest pointed to the miniature liquor bottles with their airline labels.
"Those?" Gwen surveyed the four crowded shelves, her eyebrows arched, then switched to an expression of injured innocence. "They're just a few little old leftovers that passengers didn't want. Surely, Captain, sir, you're not going to report me for possession of leftovers."
He said skeptically, "That many?"
"Of course." Gwen picked up a bottle of Beefeater gin, put it down and inspected a Canadian Club whisky. "One nice thing about airlines is, they always buy the best brands. Care for one now?"
He shook his head. "You know better than that."
"Yes, I do; but you shouldn't sound so disapproving."
"I just don't want you to get caught."
"Nobody gets caught, and almost everybody does it. Look---every first class passenger is entitled to two of these little bottles, but some passengers use only one, and there are always others who won't have any."
"The rules say you turn back all the unused ones."
"Oh, for heaven's sake! So we do---a couple for appearances, but the rest the girls divide between them. The same thing goes for wine that's left over." Gwen giggled. "We always like a passenger who asks for more wine near the end of a trip. That way, we can officially open a fresh bottle, pour off one glass.."
"I know. And take the rest home?"
"You want to see?" Gwen opened another cupboard door. Inside were a dozen filled wine bottles.
Demerest grinned. "I'll be damned."
"This isn't all mine. My roommate and one of the girls next door have been saving theirs for the party we're planning." She took his arm. "You'll come, won't you?"
"If I'm invited, I guess."
Gwen closed both cupboard doors. "You will be."
They sat down in the kitchen, and she poured the tea he had made. He watched admiringly while she did it. Gwen had a way of making even a casual session like this seem an occasion.
He noticed With amusement that she produced cups from a pile in another cupboard, all bearing Trans America insignia. They were the kind the airline used in flight. He supposed he should not have been stuffy about the airline liquor bottles; after all, stewardess "perks" were nothing new. It was just that the size of the hoard amazed him.
All airline stewardesses, he was aware, discovered early in their careers that a little husbandry in airplane galleys could relieve their cost of living at home. Stewardesses learned to board their flights with personal hand baggage which